Question of Want
by Jaiaelle
Summary: It had become quite apparent to Jeff that Annie wanted him. Jeff/Annie


_Author's Note: I feel much better about my second foray into Community fanfiction. This is more drama-comedy than angst. It's hard to write the characters, I know I didn't do them perfectly but I tried. Please leave a review, as feedback is love. :D_

_Oh, right, and I own nothing. Not Community or any of the other things I referenced here._

**_Question of Want_**

It had become quite apparent to Jeff that Annie wanted him.

Apparent because Shirley had not so discreetly handed him a page of Annie's notebook, jagged on the one side as if it had been torn quickly, without the knowledge of the owner of the notebook most likely, and pointed to the hearts with "Mr. and Mrs. Winger" transcribed in the center, all while giggling.

Apparent because Abed had called Annie "Jackie" and him "Hyde," further commenting on how popular the pairing had become on some show Jeff had never watched and how the Jackie character had first pursued the Hyde character until the Jackie character had bagged the Hyde character, to which Jeff replied that no ninety pound barely twenty one year old was going to bag him. Abed had only smiled, creepily, and told him he sounded like Hyde before walking away, straight then veering sharply to the right at the last second.

Apparent because Britta had waved her finger in his face, reminding him that Annie was only twenty one and fifteen years his junior and she was young and inexperienced and he needed to tread carefully because-

"Got it Britta. She's young, I'm old. Not meant to be. But, seriously, did you really think I was going to _go there_? As you pointed out, she's fifteen years younger than me."

One arched eyebrow told him that she indeed did think he would go there.

Apparent because of that weird, slightly perverted leer Pierce kept shooting his way, after waggling his eyebrows at the girl in question.

Apparent because…well, Troy, as usual when it came to all things Annie related, was oblivious so he had nothing to offer Jeff in terms of Annie-wanting-Jeff-ness.

But mostly it was apparent because Annie placed a ten page paper, typed and double spaced, in front of him mere days (ten days, to be exact) after she turned twenty one, entitled "Why I, Annie Edison, Want You, Jeff Winger."

"Seriously? You wrote me an _essay_?"

Her response was to sniff, shift on her feet, blush, then turn a shade of pea green, before rushing from the room, glossy hair flying out behind her.

Picking up the papers, he contemplated not even reading them and letting her down gently, because he had to, right? But something inside of him prompted him to venture ahead and read what the girl (woman?) had written, especially since such behavior was atypical for her, considering it had taken her seven years to admit to Troy that she liked him. Wincing at the memory of the brief fling between Annie and Troy, which had ended with Annie clinging to Jeff's shirt, dry tears in her eyes, questioning whether or not she would ever find the one and how could she have been so wrong about Troy?

With a pat on her head, he had assured her that the right guy would eventually come along, all the while suppressing the profound sense of relief that had been rushing over him in waves since he had first heard of the break up.

A similar type of emotion came over him as he flipped through the pages of Annie's Ode to the Them that Might Be but he pushed that down as well.

He sat there for a long time after he had finished, not aware that Britta had come to sit beside him minutes beforehand, silently waiting until he was ready to talk. When it appeared he might not ever crash back into reality, she cleared her throat, the noise jarring him.

"What the…" when his eyes landed on her his sentence changed to "…freaking crap is this? Annie is…she's… Crazy. Listen, to this. 'I know that the discrepancy in age between you and I might hold you back from following your heart straight to me but let me remind you that many young persons have enjoyed relationships with those older than them. For example, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher.' Okay, let me take a moment to pause, count backwards from ten, then exclaim, 'follow my heart?' What am I, a thirteen year old girl obsessing over Zac Efron? And then she compares me to who? None other than Demi Moore. I'm not sure but I think that makes me a cougar."

A slightly amused smile tugged at Britta's mouth but she managed to hold back the guffaw bubbling in her stomach. "I think it's a…valid illustration. And, for the record, no one would ever mistake you for a cougar, mainly because you'd make a very unattractive one."

Glaring at her, he muttered, "I'd make a very attractive anything."

"You don't think highly of yourself at all."

"You've known me long enough that my narcissism should be expected by now."

"That's sadly true," she chuckled, reaching forward with the intent to take the essay from him in an unguarded moment.

Unfortunately, he noticed her movement and jerked the papers back before, once more, jumping on the rant train, his tone bordering on the sarcastic. "There are several other _wonderful _examples, where I am Indiana Jones himself, at sixty-whatever, of course, and, in one I don't find all that unappealing, Bogart but then she takes a turn for the literary, comparing me to Colonel Brandon and Mr. Rochester. I'm not sure who this Colonel Brandon is but Mr. Rochester? Sure, I've had a few hazy trips to Vegas in my days but I don't remember any drunken marriages so I'm almost positive that I don't have a crazy wife locked away somewhere."

Biting down on the corner of her mouth, Britta didn't laugh, because she knew she mustn't, but instead said, "I'm fairly certain that if you were involved in a drunken marriage you wouldn't remember it, thus the drunken aspect. Therefore, there may be a Mrs. Winger in some attic with padded walls."

"Very funny, Britta." The bitter humor had died away and he looked at her with an open expression that allowed her to see more than he meant her to. "The ending's the worst," he said quietly, almost in a whisper, eyes on the words as he read them. "'After detailing my growing feelings for you, stemming from a kiss that was intended only to prove the absolute depraved nature of man, analyzing them and providing plenty of examples, I was still at a loss for why I, Annie Edison, wanted you, Jeff Winger. That you seem to understand me better than others, that I can manipulate you with a flick of my hair or some well placed tears, that we are truly a perfect duet, which I correctly remember being your words, aren't enough. In the end, the question of want can only be answered by the heart. And my heart beats your name. The question remains: does your heart beat my name?'" Throwing the essay down on the table, the papers making very little sound as he did so, he frowned at Britta, a sheen of misplaced anger (who was he angry at? Britta? Annie? Himself?) evident in his blue eyes. "I half expected there to be a follow up question of 'Does it beat my name? Check yes if it does and no if it doesn't.'"

For one who tended to keep how he really felt hidden under his often tight shirts, Jeff was revealing a lot to Britta. "What would you check?" she asked softly. "If there had been that option."

Perplexed, he eyed her with definite suspicion. "What do you think I would check, Britta? We've already established the age factor, even though I like the thought of being Bogart to her Bacall, except Annie and I are a lot closer in age than old Humphrey and Lauren were. I'd just like to point that out. And then there's the fact that Annie is, well, Annie." 'Translation: Annie's special,' Britta thought. He gripped the table until his knuckles turned white. "Now I have to break her heart. That should be fun."

"Jeff…" Hesitating, Britta carefully considered what she should say, especially in light of the warning she issued him regarding Annie only days before. "All that aside, what is your heart really telling you? Because Annie's right. All the logic in the world can't reason away how you feel."

His eyes were a shade of serious as they met hers. "If I admit to maybe feeling something in my heart for her, you're not going to throw something at me, are you? Namely, that large Biology text in front of you, 'cause I have a feeling of another sort it would probably hurt."

Rolling her eyes, she pushed the Biology book away, just to reassure him. "I promise to remain rationally calm. Besides, perhaps I was…wrong when I came at you the other day. I have to admit, your immaturity makes up for Annie's youthfulness."

"Gee, thanks. An insult wrapped in a stamp of approval. Guess that means full steam ahead in…" Gulping, his adam's apple bobbed. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "In what?"

"Is this the same Jeff Winger I've known for three years? Unsure of himself? I wish I had a camera."

"Take a mental picture and can the biting commentary."

"Sorry, I guess I'm not helping. So," she urged, ending the back and forth she had become accustomed to with him. "Truthfully, do you want Annie?"

Shutting off every part of his mind, he listened to his heart (though he'd never admit that to anyone, _ever_, under the veiled guise that he hated that stupid song but mostly because he was embarrassed and because he was sure that Annie would bounce gleefully if he did, citing her essay as the reason, exuberantly exclaiming that he _had_ followed his heart straight to her) and it palpitated in a rhythm that he was almost one hundred percent certain sang Annie. "Yes."

"Then why are you sitting in here with me when Annie is out there, waiting for your reaction to her well thought out paper documenting her feelings?"

"You talked to her, didn't you?"

Shrugging, Britta chose to shroud herself in mystery, which led him to believe that she had spoken with the author herself prior to entering the room. That conversation was probably what had swayed Britta to join team Jeff and Annie. Confirmation came in the form of, "She's right outside the library, sitting on a bench."

And so, like at the end of every romance, he went to get the girl.

Kiss her, carry her out of the factory, dance sensually to "Time of My Life," stay afloat in icy waters until he died and she had to pry his frozen fingers off of hers, keeping the promise she had made to him to go on…. Okay, maybe not that last one. And probably not the two prior to that either.

But he did kiss her, letting her know that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

When they separated at last, mostly out of necessity (they had to breathe sometime), she exhaled, "I'll take that as, an, um, yes? Unless this is all just part of one of those hidden camera shows." Her eyes darted around, searching for obscured lens'. "I mean, it would totally make sense if that were the case because you are the cool older guy and I'm just me and-"

He cut off her frantic speech with another kiss. "This isn't Greendale's version of Punk'd, Kutcher."

Glowing, she tentatively stretched her fingers to touch his cheek, then skim over his skin until they came to his hairline. "Good because…I would've really hated that. Moore."

Grinning lopsidedly, he slanted his mouth over hers once more, pulling her so close to him that she was almost sitting on his lap.

"This is a fitting ending for any great romance," said Abed, who was standing with Pierce, Troy, Shirley and Britta, watching the two on the bench where the one had found the other. "Or maybe beginning, since every ending is really just a new beginning. Except it's usually just an ending in the movies since we never actually get to see what happens after. Possibly divorce and heartache since most couples in romances don't really know each other that well but Annie and Jeff do. So, a new beginning then."

Sending Abed her patented 'Abed, you're being weird' look, Shirley sighed "Aren't they cute? It's so…nice."

"I agree, Shirley," intoned Pierce. "But it reminds me of my utter loneliness. Hey, you're in the same place as me. Maybe we could-"

"No. Never. Anyway, I have to…wash my hair tonight. Bye."

Snorting, Britta shook her head as Shirley vacated the premises, Pierce hot on her heels.

Confused, Troy tilted his head. "Wait…Jeff and Annie? I think I'm missing something..."

Patting Troy on the back, Abed led him away, saying, "Don't worry, Troy. I'll update you on all the details of Jannie, which would probably be their celebrity couple name if they were celebrities. You know, like Brangelina and…"

Abed's voice faded away as Britta found herself the lone viewer of the scene. The creepy feeling of peeping tom or stalker or crazy paparazzi sans camera snuck over and she moved away, allowing herself only a lingering glance at the happy couple.

Who had been busy expressing their want to one another until Annie pulled away.

"You really, really want me?"

"Stop being so insecure, Edison. _Yes_, I want you. Or haven't I made myself abundantly clear. Do I need to make myself clearer?"

"Well…maybe."

"You know, you biting down on your bottom lip like that makes it hard for me to resist you."

"That might be the point? And I said you could make yourself clearer. Weren't you listening?"

"Don't tell me you're going to be one of those girlfriends, always on my case about whether or not I'm actually listening to you because most of the time, I probably won't be."

"You just called me your girlfriend! And, yes, I will be one of those girlfriends. Now about making things clearer for me…"

"You have a one track mind, you know that? I guess we should stop giving everyone a free show and, since our friends have ceased in eerily spying on us-"

"They're just happy for us."

"-maybe we could go somewhere a little more private."

"Um…like, how private? Because making things clearer sounds nice but I'm not sure I'm ready-"

"Don't worry, Annie, we'll take it slow. I just mean somewhere that is not a college campus. Preferably, not Greendale's college campus."

"In that case, there's this scenic outlook not far from here…"

"And how many times have you been _there_?"

"Once, when I was sixteen, my driver's instructor had me pass by it during a driver's ed lesson and there were a lot of cars parked there with, you know, romantic partners inside, and it seemed like a nice private place…so…"

"To the outlook, then." Standing, he hooked his elbow. Following his suit, she slipped her hand into the crook made by the bend of his arm. "Milady," he murmured.

Grinning delightedly, she replied, "Milord."

All eyes on them as they strolled arm in arm across the campus and one large man, with giant star shaped sideburns muttered, "Huh. That's just…so…so…so…

Right."

_End (or Beginning?). _


End file.
